A/N: Thank you GuestM Live and Buckhunter for reviewing!

Follow-up to No. 10

No. 25 Lost Voice

Merlin let himself into Lancelot's room, balancing a tray of breakfast. He found his friend sitting by the open window, face tilted into the sunlight.

"Good morning," he greeted.

Lancelot turned his head and gave a small smile in return. Merlin set the tray on the table, and Lancelot came over to take a seat and dig in. Merlin lingered, trying not to hover too much but still compelled to keep a concerned eye on his friend. Arthur had released him from his duties to help Lancelot instead while he recovered from being dead, tortured in the afterlife, and then brought back.

The first few days had been difficult, with Lancelot experiencing shock and reacting violently to any sound or touch. He was in pain, too, though there were no physical wounds to his body to treat. Only ones done to his soul in the Cailleach's realm that no physician could reach. But with tender care and patience, he'd gradually come back to himself, realized where he was and that he was safe. Merlin could only assume the invisible wounds were healing. Save for one. Lancelot hadn't spoken a word since his return, hadn't made a single sound.

Merlin knew it wasn't his vocal cords that were the problem; they hadn't taken any physical damage. Whatever hurt this was, it was on the inside, something neither of them could put a name to.

Lancelot picked up a quill and scribbled out a note on some parchment that was always available in his room. He then pushed it toward Merlin.

"You don't have to stay."

Merlin shrugged and gave him a lighthearted grin. "Whatever gets me out of having to polish Arthur's armor."

Lancelot quirked a small smile back and resumed eating his breakfast. When he was done, he pulled the parchment back and wrote down another message.

"I want to go down to the training ground."

Merlin automatically shook his head. "It might be too soon."

Lancelot scritched out his response: "I'm tired of being cooped up in here."

Merlin pursed his mouth but relented. "All right."

It wasn't that he was concerned Lancelot wasn't able to venture out of his room, it was just that Merlin worried over some people's…reactions to him. Coming back from the dead was the work of sorcery, though Merlin had played it off as being the workings of spirits in the afterlife, not any sorcerer here in Camelot. At least with Uther mentally incapacitated with his grief, Arthur was ruling, and he had readily welcomed Lancelot back.

Merlin accompanied him down to the training grounds where his fellow knights of Arthur's inner circle heartily greeted him. Lancelot could only nod in response and share their smiles.

He sparred with Elyan, who took it easy on him, but a few weeks of convalescence hadn't detracted much from his skill. It was awkward, though, trying to interact with people but not having the ability to communicate with them. It wasn't like Lancelot could carry an ink well and paper around with him.

So after he finished training and the knights started talking about going to the tavern, Lancelot bowed out and retreated to his room again.

"Do you want to dine in the main hall tonight?" Merlin asked.

He shook his head dejectedly. Again, sitting in silence while everyone else talked around you wasn't very enjoyable.

"Maybe you just need more time," Merlin said, not for the first time. "Your voice can still come back."

Lancelot just gave him a sad look. Merlin got the sense the knight knew something he didn't, but Lancelot wouldn't share. Even with the ability to write, he hadn't told Merlin what it was like in the Cailleach's lair where she tormented souls for pleasure.

A couple days later, Gwaine came by. Each of the knights took turns visiting Lancelot, even though it was often awkward having one-sided conversations.

"I've been thinking," he started.

"Did it hurt?" Merlin interjected.

Lancelot smirked while Gwaine rolled his eyes.

"Hah hah. I'm serious." He turned back to Lancelot. "On my travels around the kingdoms, I met a deaf man who used hand gestures to communicate with his family. Maybe we can figure something like that out for you."

Lancelot furrowed his brow, but Merlin perked up right away.

"That's a great idea!"

"It happens," Gwaine replied drolly.

Inventing a language, however, was no easy task. And Merlin couldn't keep forsaking his duties to Arthur forever. But once they shared the idea with the other knights and Gwen, all of them were eager to help. And so they took turns coming up with hand signs for words, and Merlin began writing them down in a book, drawing sketches of the hand shapes and movements. This new form of communication was clumsy and crude at first, but it opened an avenue for Lancelot, and gave him translators when he was around those who hadn't picked up this second language. And so, after some time, he was able to resume most of his previous life before the Veil, and Merlin returned to being Arthur's manservant full time.

Then one stormy evening, Lancelot didn't show for supper, and Merlin went to check on him. He found him in his room, dozens of candles lit all over the place, far more than were necessary. Lancelot was on the bed, knees drawn up.

"Lancelot?" Merlin called. "What's wrong?"

He looked away.

Merlin took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Talk to me so I can help you."

Lancelot lifted his hands. "Can't help," he signed.

"How do you know if you don't tell me what's wrong?"

Lancelot shook his head and looked away again.

"Then at least don't carry it alone," Merlin tried. "I'm your friend. Just let me in."

Lancelot didn't respond. Thunder clapped outside and he flinched.

Merlin's heart constricted. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "It should have been me. It was supposed to be me."

Lancelot immediately shook his head vehemently. "My choice."

"No, it was my choice! I told you I was going to do it!"

"And you knew I was going to," Arthur's voice interrupted.

They both stiffened and looked toward the door; neither had heard him come in.

Arthur shut the door behind him and walked over. "Your absences were noted."

Lancelot scrambled off the bed. "I'm sorry," he signed. "I didn't mean to cause a fuss."

Arthur raised a hand to stop him, then began to awkwardly respond in sign. "I would have given my life."

Lancelot nodded solemnly. "I know."

Arthur switched to speaking aloud. "I understand some things feel too horrible to speak about, but I've learned that if you keep it bottled inside, it will only fester like an infected wound. And if you don't release it, you will have truly lost your voice."

Merlin's brows rose in surprise at Arthur's poignant and heartfelt speech.

Lancelot considered it for a long moment, then began to haltingly sign again. He told them what he remembered from being dead, how when the Cailleach had ripped his soul from his body, it had felt like he was literally being ripped apart. Then it was so cold, and the pain…

His face scrunched up like he was struggling to come up with the words. He then mimed a hand fisting at his chest and twisting violently.

"I remember screaming, not just from the agony, but it was like my voice was no longer mine. It belonged to the Cailleach, a stringed instrument for her to pluck at her leisure." He turned to Merlin. "I know you keep hoping one day it will return, that I'll be whole again, but the pieces that tore inside me…some of them are lost forever."

Merlin's heart constricted with guilt and grief again.

"You can be whole again," Arthur spoke up. "You just have to fill the holes with new pieces."

"I know you have been patient with me, and I am forever grateful for that, but I know I cannot be a knight anymore."

"That's up to you," Arthur replied soberly. "But Camelot owes you everything, and I will make sure you are honored and taken care of, no matter what pieces, old or new, you choose to fill your life with." He then raised his hands again and signed, "Your place is here, my brother."

Lancelot looked overcome with emotion, and even Merlin was getting a little choked up. He hadn't known Arthur had learned that much of their sign language. But he had; he'd made the effort to make sure Lancelot knew how much he was loved.

And wherever he needed it, his family would help be his voice in the world.